


wild heart (have more than fun, be free)

by RyeFo



Series: shadyside scrapbook [1]
Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Gay, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 02:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20202394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyeFo/pseuds/RyeFo
Summary: Have fun with that, Kira once said.He's having more than fun.He's living.Or, four times T.J struggled with his sexuality, and the one time he embraced it.





	wild heart (have more than fun, be free)

_Observe (#1)_

_-_

If people ask T.J when he figured out he was gay, he'll laugh and say he was fourteen years old, laying eyes on Cyrus for the first time. That the second that boy appeared in front of him, nervous and self-aware of his own shortcomings to get that muffin he _oh-so _desired, T.J was utterly hooked.

Real-life, it seems, isn't quite that romantic. 

So, let's set the scene: T.J is thirteen years old, sitting on the bleachers of a Monroe middle school basketball game with his Dad.

His Dad always had bright ideas like this. Attend the games, using casual observation to cover for checking out the strategy of both teams during practice, games, and how they strategized during downtime. T.J may be picking the dead skin off of his thumbs and ignoring the acne covering his face, but his eyes don't leave the field; girls and guys couple together to compete ("_something_," his dad says, "_is ridiculous; girls have their place on the court, and it's not equal with the boys."_).

Everyone's fierce and friendly in competition. There are rivalries that T.J knows will extend well into high school and beyond. Little smirks and light-hearted jabs, moves that show they know their competitor perhaps a little too well. There's one girl that brags a little too much, holds her head a bit too high, but T.J knows talent when he sees it. 

"See that girl down there, son?" His dad nudges his side and points to the girl, who wipes her head after scoring. "If you end up with anyone, make sure its a girl like her."

Something in T.J's stomach flips uneasily. He nods, smiles, and stays quiet. 

He's in the middle of picking off a hang-nail when it happens. 

There is sudden a yell and a squeak on the court, T.J's head shooting up and sending his glasses askew. There's a sharp whistle blow, and the entire game is brought to a standstill whilst a small crowd congregates around something in the center.

"Dad? What's going on?" T.J asks.

His father sighs, raising a brow. "Looks like some tiff on the court got out of hand. A kid got knocked over." His father stands slightly to have a better look at the scene and winces. "Oh yeah, that'll leave a mark on the knee."

Out of curiousity, T.J stands up to have a closer look and--well. The cogs that turn are just predictable here at this point.

T.J's glasses slip down his face from the shock of seeing, well, _whoever _the boy was. There's no name that comes to mind when T.J looks at him, but he doesn't really need one for the way just _looking _at the boy makes him feel, electricity down the bones and sweat on his clammy fingertips. 

Really, there's nothing he can fixate on because it's _everything _and _nothing_ all at once, caught in a rush he didn't expect to feel at 16:30 pm on a Wednesday afternoon. The boy's hair is rugged, shirt slightly too-big, and there's this crooked grin on his face that reads _impish _and _class clown _all in one. If T.J squints, the boy's eyes are this honey brown, and everything about him screams team player and _warm and welcome_ and everything in between.

He's almost...

_Pretty._

T.J swallows down hard and quickly sits back down, hiding his hands in his lap. 

"You alright, son?" His Dad pats his shoulder, concerned about how pale his boy is becoming. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Fine." He bites down any other words.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Dad." He smiles, turning his attention back to the game. "I just don't like blood."

* * *

_Mirror (#2)_

_-_

The clock strikes _23:47. _There are clusters of teenagers milling around the street, passing plastic bottles of cola mixed with brandy and rum on the street. Cars go past idly, occasionally sounding their horns at the groups that walk around and play static music from broken speakers under the shade trees. 

T.J's parents aren't home. (When are they ever?) He's alone tonight, and he's standing in front of the mirror, still as a ghost. Perhaps not the right apparel for that role, though, what with his tropical sunglasses in hand, tacky Hawaiian board shorts pulled up and flipflops adorned. His glasses remain askew on his face, slipping down the bridge of his nose with the handles tangled in his ungelled hair. 

His outfit had been hung up, the coathanger hooked over his bedroom door handle. The sunglasses had been by his _bedside. _It was all supposed to be simple, easy, _fun. _

The idea wasn't even his, not really. He'd mentioned off-hand to the kids at the gym, and they, being eager sweethearts, had readily suggested a plethora of ideas that, honestly, would have made for amazing costumes in another world. Princess cars and alien dog walkers were close contenders, but ultimately it had been one shy little girl's suggestion that had topped it:

_Make it special._

So, he had. Thought of themes - muffins and bakers, basketballs and swingsets. That was their _thing, _but not _the _thing. 

It had come to him when he was scribbling in the back of his maths book (he internally apologized to Buffy for not paying attention that lesson), when a breeze had come by, wafting in the smell of fries for that Friday lunchtime. 

_Summer salt. **Somersault.** _

It was supposed to be simple. It _should _have been easy. And it was, really, if T.J Kippen, fucking _Thelonius Jagger _wasn't such a _coward. _

_"Have fun with that."_

_Have fun with that._

** _Have fun with that._ **

The sunglasses fall to the floor as he runs a hand through his hair, tastes bile at the back of his throat. 

"Was I that obvious about it?" He whispers to himself. "Did--did she mean it genuinely? No, she _couldn't _have. She met me _once. _If it was Driscoll, I'd understand, but I barely _know _Kira. She couldn't have known. She _couldn't _have. It was just stupid teasing for her to get me to do her dumb costume idea. It's an obvious dig."

T.J purses his lips, finger's trembling. "But what if I _was _obvious?"

Logically, _logically, _he knows Cyrus wouldn't have picked up on it, or he's too nice to comment. That his basketball teammates wouldn't have picked up on it. He's good at hiding his stuff. He's _sure _he is. 

"She couldn't have known." He nods decisively. Puts his hands on his hips and frowns. "She was just doing a dig. Everything's fine."

The jeers outside, the _words _and _comments _said in light-hearted banter make him falter. He's heard them before, locker-room talk, and though it's been absent for a year, it crawls into his skin and makes him shudder.

"Nobody knows." He murmurs.

He stares at the T.J looking back at him. In his head, he looks confident and fresh-faced. Not this willowy teenager paling with every second that ticks by.

_23:59. _

He swallows hard.

_00:00. _

The trembles carry on.

_00:01._

He clenches his fists.

"We're in 2018. I don't _need to_ care about this stuff. So what if there are rumours? I'll just punch the shit out of them. Easy."

Once, that would work. But, really, he's no different than that thirteen-year-old boy sat on the bleachers, pretending to be afraid and grossed out by blood. The false bravado doesn't leave him, though it was never really there. More like a mask he wears, and suffice to say, T.J _knows _what masks look like.

"Just say it," T.J commands, frowning at his reflection. "It's not hard. Just _say _it."

He presses a hand to the mirror, takes a deep breath, and tries. "I--"

The words don't come.

"I--" He takes another breath, hand clawing into a foggy fist against the mirror. "I'm g--"

His teeth crush his bottom lip as he tries, _tries _to force the words out. Nobody's here. Nobody can _hear _him. Everything's fine. 

Something builds up in his throat, crawls down to his gut, makes his entire body feel unstable and--and he's trying to say it, trying so damn _hard_, but his lip starts trembling which is making the words shake out of his sandpaper throat, and everything's going blurry and his eyes _sting. _

_Everything is fine, T.J, why are you making a big deal out of this, _it wasn't that bad, it wasn't a huge deal,_ we've already got equality so why does admitting it to yourself make a difference to you or not, _she was just digging at you, she couldn't have known, _god she shouldn't know, and what if--_

_What if that's why--_

He violently steps back and covers his eyes, almost tripping over himself.

"I can't."

T.J bites his lip, covers his eyes and pushes up his glasses, and sinks to the floor.

"I _can't_."

* * *

_Words (#3)_

_-_

"T.J, can we talk?"

The very voice makes his skin crawl before he even sees who it is, and turning around to see a (somewhat) hesitant Kira, rubbing her arm and hovering in the doorway next to the changing rooms. It doesn't exactly help his now-soured mood that she's here, though he'll admit that it does pique his curiousity.

T.J can't remember if he saw Kira looking _nervous _before.

So, he folds his arms and lets the towel stay slung around his neck, leaning against the wall and raising a brow at her. Keeping the nonchalance despite the words in his head whirring around. _Have fun with that._ "Didn't expect to see you around here so soon," T.J says. "You already fled with your tail between your legs at Andi's party."

"I... know that." 

"What makes you think I even want to talk to you?"

To her credit, Kira does duck head down a little. "I got that message. You didn't answer any of my texts, so this is... sort of a last resort."

As if on cue, T.J reaches into his pocket and checks his phone notifications as the light comes back on-screen. The number's grown from _12 _unread messages to _19 _of them in the last day _alone_. His lifts his eyebrows as he looks at her, and can't help but smile. "Huh, so I haven't. I didn't see that one coming. What a surprise."

It doesn't take long for Kira's jaw to tense, and she swallows hard. "Alright," she croaks out. "I deserve that."

"What do you _want, _Kira?"

She wets her lips with her tongue, swallows again, and rubs her arms. "Look, I'm _sorry, _okay?" It was almost as if the apology was causing her physical _pain. _"Maybe I shouldn't have been such a jerk to Cyrus. I guess I still had bad feelings left over from Buffy, and I was... putting them on Cyrus because he was her friend. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have made you pick between us." 

She's left shaking from the after-effects of human decency (clearly a shocking feat), and T.J's inspecting his nails, not even looking at her. "Congratulations, Kira." He says, dryly. "You've finally learned how to apologise. I'm sure the literal two-year-olds at my gym will need help with their infancy development."

"Wh--" Kira blanches with a huff. "Couldn't you take this a _bit _more seriously?"

"Alright." He squares his shoulders, towel dropping on the floor. "So, you've apologised to me. But what do you plan to _do _about it?"

"Do...?"

"Yeah. You realise _apologising _is just step one, right?" 

"I--" Kira shakes her head. "What do you _expect _me to do?"

God, just _talking _with her is giving him a headache. He massages his temples, wracking his brain for lessons he gives the kids at the gym. "That," he looks at her and sighs. "That is something _you _need to figure out. I'm not about to educate you on how to right your wrongs. That's just giving you a step-by-step guide in resolving your own guilt, and I'm not going to do that. Not after what you did. That's a little something called _growing up, _and I'm not your parent, Kira."

"I'm not _asking _you to be!" Kira's raised voice causes more people to look in their direction; T.J knows the rest of the team already know about her manipulation of him, but he can tell the lingering curiousity. Kira's face starts to get a red tinge to it. "We had fun, didn't we? We were _friends. _How can you be mad that I'm trying to get that back? I-I miss you, okay? Is _that _what you want to hear?"

And, yeah. Maybe that softens _something _in him. Because, for all her faults, he had fun, too. 

But the words come back. 

_Have fun with that. _

_You'd pick **Cyrus. **_

Just remembering the tone she used, seeing her _face, _the little digs at someone who was literally one of the most important people in his _life? _The softness toward her hardens like a shield, and he scoffs, and he sees how it makes her wilt. He's not ashamed that he's delighting in it, but he stops and remembers: _you're not that person anymore. Sometimes, there's a nice person on the inside trying to get out. So don't delight in old coping mechanisms. _

"You hurt the people close to me, Kira." That's the kicker. She shuts up, purses her lips together. He carries on with, "you not only almost ruined Buffy's basketball team with how arrogant you are, but you tried to alienate me from Cyrus and made _fun _of him. Right in front of me."

"I-It was _dancing! _It's not that big of a deal!"

He holds a hand up. "It _was."_ He puts his hand down and folds his arms._ "_You were shaming him for something that makes him happy, and you tried to get _me _in on it. Then, you tried to make me _pick _between you two! That's not what friends do. Not without good reason. Buffy made Cyrus choose between me and her when she lost everything, and it was because of a mistake Cyrus made, and because I hurt their friendship. You made me choose because you were jealous."

Something overcomes him, and he finds himself blinking fast. "You made me _insecure _about how my friendship with him was coming across, Kira. Your words _dug _into me."

And there's silence. For a few moments, anyway.

Kira's mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish. She swallows, twiddles with her fingers, and T.J can see the telltale signs: she's _desperate _to say something, _anything, _to try and appear like the wounded party. Maybe she's going to be honest with him for once, or lie about it, or twist it even further. But he's so incredibly _done _at this point. 

"I shouldn't have done that," she mutters. "I didn't mean for it to hurt so much. I just thought - all guys are insecure about that stuff, right? About appearing too gay?" Something white-hot shoots through his gut. "And I really wanted to get onto the team, so it was just meant to be playful banter, not--"

"Shut up."

Kira's head shoots up in surprise. "T.J?"

"You... you _meant _it that way?" He can't help the brutal _brittleness _to his voice. "I thought you didn't realise how it sounded--" He laughs, a bitter thing, and he can't stop the smile. "You fucking _meant _it to sound that way?"

Kira takes a step back, a deer caught in the headlights. "I-I know it was wrong now!" She squeaks. "I didn't know you--it's not like you are!"

"It doesn't matter if I _am _or not, Kira!" More and more heads are turning, and his skin is feeling red-raw. "You don't _do _that to someone! You don't do it to anyone, even if they _are _straight or gay or--or whatever! That's fucking cruel and _evil."_

"I didn't mean for it to be that hurtful!"

"It _was._" 

That leaves Kira stunned. She's stood up, rigid and straight, hands clenched into fists.

T.J takes the chance to breathe, hold his thoughts, and exhale. 

"You stay away from me."

Kira's nearly at the point of tears, but she says nothing.

"You stay from me, you stay away from my friends, and you stay away from Cyrus." He takes a step closer and glares at her. "If I ever, _ever _see you near us again, if I even hear that you've said a word about any of us, even if we're in different high schools? I swear to God, I _will _become the person who used to hurt others again, just for you. You wouldn't like that T.J."

He looks away. "I know I didn't."

"T.J--"

"Don't, Kira." T.J swoops down to pick up the towel and dusts it off. "You don't get any more chances from me. So do me a favour for yourself," he says as he slings it over his shoulder and begins to walk away. "_Grow up."_

* * *

_Exhale (#4)_

_-_

He gets home a little later than usual. Streetlights are already flickering when he puts his key in the door and dumps his bag in the hallway. 

_"T.J? Honey, is that you?" _His mother calls as he puts his keys in the dish and kicks his shoes off into the cubby. She's probably pottering around in the kitchen; he can hear the kettle boiling and cups clinking (she's probably trying to find her favourite mug; he hasn't got the heart to say he accidentally shattered it and it lies in pieces in his room, waiting for the opportune moment to glue it back together). 

"Yeah, Mom." He hangs his coat up and slinks into the kitchen, hands in his jean pockets. "I'm sorry I'm late."

She waves him off with a teaspoon in hand. "No worries, darling, I knew you'd call if there was an issue." She points at one of the taller cupboards. "Be a dear and grab the tea-bags, would you? Two sugars for you, right?"

"Mm." He hums, grabbing the box and setting it on the side.

As his mother hums a song under her breath, creating her own little melody of stirring tea and adding sugar (sometimes, he swears she's out of a _Beatrix Potter _novel), T.J sits down at the table and puts his hands together.

His mind's now calm from the rush, everything's settled now, but there's something in his gut. A feeling of some kind. He can't quite describe it - it's like stagefright and urging all at once, like when he grabbed Cyrus' hand, like when he shouted at Kira, like when Buffy found him at the courts. It's as he watches his mother now, out the corner of his eye, totally oblivious to his own inner-storm.

He knows there are words on the tip of his tongue that he needs - nay, _wants _to tell her.

As she finishes with the tea, he says the words, "Mom, can we talk?"

The song stops.

His mother stops. 

She brings the two cups over and pulls a seat at the table to sit down, sliding T.J his cup of tea and taking a sip of hers. That little smile on her face, kindness incarnate, never fades, and she just nods. "I'm all ears," she says, and that's when he knows that she's listening, putting all her attention on what he needs to say. 

T.J takes a breath. Squeezes the mug. "You know Kira?"

"The girl you've been friendly with the last few weeks?"

He can already _taste _the bile at the back of his throat, and he takes a sip to drown out the flavour. Just knowing he brought Kira around to meet his gem of a mother already had chills running up his spine. "Yeah, her. I'm... not friends with her anymore, Mom. Not _anything _with her. She, uh, isn't a nice person. Or maybe she is, but she wasn't nice to me and my friends."

"Alright," his mother puts her cup down. "Did she do something to you?"

"Yeah," he bites his lip. "Yeah, she did."

"Take your time, sweetheart." She puts a hand on top of his. "As long as you need."

_How _he ended up as he did at the start of the year with a mother like this, so kind and patient, T.J doesn't know. A bully raised by a gem of a human being. That's something out of a novel, not from Shadyside, not from someone like him. She's still waiting for him, still smiling, still...

Still here.

T.J can't remember the last time he cried. He's always been the tough kid, biting everything back and holding it down until he's mastered walking on his own feelings. Yeah, he can remember his _almosts: _getting Buffy kicked off the team, almost losing Cyrus because of the _gun _incident, looking at himself in the mirror after costume day ended, and when Cyrus held his hand and everything was finally, _finally _okay. But he doesn't remember crying. 

So when his vision blurs and his tea splashes and his mother's breathing stutters, he knows he can now remember. 

"_Shit--"_

"T.J, we don't have to talk about it--"

"I'm _sorry._"

_That _takes his mother back. "T.J," she can't stop the shock in her voice. "You've done nothing wrong."

"I have, that's the _problem._" He covers his eyes and shakes his head. "You've-you've always bailed me out, helped me, put up with my _stupid _tantrums of a girl being better than me. That's not even a problem and I _made _it into one. I was a bully, Mom, and you still cared--how do you care about someone who hurt another person as I did? How did Buffy even _forgive _me after all the shit I put her through?" He wheezes, shakes his head, closes his eyes. "I have a _fucking _learning disability, I mess up even simple times, I-I was stupid and tried not to get _any _help, and t-to top it all off, I..."

T.J swallows. Goes pale. 

"Thelonius Jagger Kippen, you look at me."

Hesitantly, he does, and he sees his mother crouched in front of him, putting a hand on his cheek. Another sob rips from his throat. She's so _kind._

"You want to know why Buffy forgave you?" She brushes the tears from his eyes. "You put effort into making _her _life better, _without _expecting an apology. That's called growing up and learning from your mistakes, sweetheart, and you did that all on your own." T.J feels himself being pulled into a hug, tight and affirming, and he clings back. "You've put so much effort into changing and being _nice _again, mostly on your own, and you did it without expectations. You didn't just say you were sorry, you _did _something about it."

She kisses the top of his head. "And I am so, _so _proud to say you're my son."

"_Thank you."_

And, for a while, he feels like he's five again and just scraped his knee, being cradled in the arms of his mother this way. She's probably shorter than him now, but he feels small like this. Safe, for the first time since he held Cyrus in his arms. 

The words gently nudge him along. 

"You know I got a C+ on my last math test?" He says, a little hoarse, a little broken.

"I do," he can feel her smile in her words. "Your friend Cyrus told me when he came by with those blueberry macadamia muffins the other week."

The name sends pleasant shivers down his arm and--he can't do this anymore. He _can't _keep the truth from her anymore. He wants to tell her. If anyone deserves to know, if it's even something deserving of knowing, T.J wants his mother to be let in on this part of his life. This shy, terrifying idea that _expectations _aren't going to quite fit. He prises himself from his mother's embrace but keeps a hold of her hand. No more starting off with Kira, or how it made him feel ashamed and bad and disgusted because knowing who he is _doesn't _anymore. It's scary, sure, but he's not ashamed. Just cautious. 

But it makes him so, so happy to know who he is. 

"He's... not my friend, Mom."

She grips his hand. "Did he do something to hurt you, sweetheart?"

"No, no!" He rebuffs - the idea that Cyrus could _ever _be on Kira's level is foreign to him. "No, no. Nothing like that." 

_This is nothing like that._

He's not the boy seeing the cute basketball player on the pitch and pretending he's afraid of blood. He's not the teenager in front of the mirror, too overcome with internalised disgust to even _say _the word. He was once that boy, that teenager, that confused bundle of hormones, but they're urging him to just _be himself, _and-

And he looks at his mother and realises. _It's okay._

"He's more than that to me." Before it escapes him, _finally, _he tells himself. "I'm gay, Mom."

There's always that _what if _moment. What if they don't accept it? What if I was wrong? What if it _is _bad? And it hangs there in the silence, tempting him to run, to duck and cover, to just conceal everything again and move on. All these words, and sometimes he wishes they were scrambled up in his head instead of numbers, but he remembers them, _have fun with that - _

But he looks at his mother, smile on her face, tears glistening in her eyes, and he has one thing to say to those words in his head.

_Yeah. I will have fun with that._

"I love you, T.J. " She pulls him into a hug again. "There's nothing to fear, okay? So, please, let go of that breath you're holding."

_Have fun with that._

_I will have fun with that. I'm going to shine._

And he doesn't release that breath in an exhale.

Instead, he _laughs._

* * *

_Luck (+1)_

_-_

So, here we are. 

No longer the thirteen-year-old boy covered in acne with the blood phobia, no longer the fourteen-year-old internalising his agony, and no longer the fifteen-year-old kid who's shy about self-acceptance in a world like this. No, T.J is no longer any of them, yet he was all of them, and he knows the memories of who they were will be in his head forever, always nudging him along when he feels the need to retreat into his own shell. He can't forget the way he felt then, no will he want to. But they aren't who he _is, _so it's okay to move on. 

Now, he's sixteen (and three-quarters. Cyrus's insistence that _months _matter too.), in his second year at SAVA, with ink-blotched hands as he mulls over the notes to the incomplete song in his notebook. It's not a long one - short, should be simple, but nothing _really _fits. 

"Ugh." He slams his face down on his keyboard. "I give _up._"

"Oh, good. Buffy owes me $20."

The distant sound of _chewing _fills his ears after the piano keys stop crying from the weight of his face, and he turns his head to glare. "Do you _have _to do that so loudly."

Andi just grins, tossing her paper ball up in the air as she lays on his bed. "You're the one who invited me over, _Thelonius._" Despite himself, he flushes at the name. Why, _why _did she have to see the name-card before he got it changed? Andi's a ninja for sniffing out friends, he swears it. "It's not my fault I have to find ways to fill the time whilst you wallow in self-pity."

"And making bets with _Driscoll_ is the way to do that?"

"Scowl all you like, Kippen. You love us both."

He hates the way his scowl softens, but, try as he might, he _can't _argue with her. Buffy and Andi wormed their way into his head, and now frequently have non-alcoholic Pina Coladas whilst laughing at his (admittedly, self-inflicted) misery from procrastinating his homework to the last few days that it's due in. Along with Amber and Libby, he won't even deny it: he loves all his girls. 

But, try as they might, he knows how to return the favour.

"You love me _back._"

Judging by how her face softens into a smirk she hides behind her hand, Andi's on a similar thought-process.

"T.J, why don't you just take a break? You've been mulling over this for two hours." She rolls onto her side and picks up a sheet. "Couldn't you just turn one of these in? This meets all the criteria, and it's not a final project."

"I guess..." T.J sighs. "None of them sound right, though."

"Nothing has to be perfect, Teej." She gently nudges his shoulder with her hand. "Remember the art funk _I _got in last month? You're doing the same thing. So remember," she raises a finger, coy little grin on her face, "if you find nothing satisfies you, sleep on it and--"

"Look at it with fresh eyes." He sighs but messes up her hair and grins. "Don't repeat my advice back to me."

"It's good advice!"

So, he closes his notebook and gathers the papers into a pile, dumping them on his desk. Pushes up his glasses and sits on his bed, hair falling in his face. "Happy now?"

"Yeah." She chews her gum still. "Oh, and Cyrus is outside."

He stills. "Wait, _what?" _T.J shakes his head. "No, he-he's on a trip with his theatre group for the month. He's not back till Saturday."

Andi shrugs, but the smile grows on her face. "Apparently he begged his mom to drop him back early instead of getting on the school bus." She points to his window. "Look outside if you don't believe me."

One blink, two blinks, and he's bolting down the stairs. 

He doesn't even bother putting shoes on before he's _blasted _past his mother and practically pushed through the front door, stopping with a skid at the porch when he _sees _him. He wheezes, breathing labouring and hard, but he doesn't need air to know that's _Cyrus _standing there, tired eyes and backpack on the floor, and he looks so tired like it hasn't been a ten-hour drive and-

"You're _back?"_

Cyrus shrugs, holding out a bouquet of flowers for T.J, and smiles. "I missed you."

It's four-thirty on a fucking _Thursday. _T.J stares and stares and _cannot stop staring, _and his eyes sting and, fuck it, _there are _the tears again, Cyrus really has turned him into a sap. He doesn't care, he doesn't _fucking _care because he's right there, beautiful and bright and standing in the rain. Cyrus, he came home early because he _misses him, _and someday T.J knows that he's going to have to up his game because Cyrus really _is a master _of all this romantic stuff.

His feet pad against the wet sidewalk before he's almost leaping and he sweeps Cyrus into a hug, lifting him off his feet and holding him tight. The flowers might be a little crushed, but Cyrus doesn't seem to hold it against him as he hugs him back, arms around T.J's neck and burying his head into him. T.J kisses the side of his head, ignoring the chills on the balls of his feet, his heart hammering against his ribcage. 

"That's _so gay, _Cyrus." T.J chokes, laughing as he feels Cyrus smile. 

"Yeah, well, _we're _pretty gay." Cyrus lifts his head a little. "Hi, Andi. Get the good side, okay?"

"Hi! Don't mind me." T.J looks over his shoulder to see Andi unashamedly taking photographs of the two from his bedroom, and puts her thumbs up when he spies her. "Stop that. You _don't have _a bad side, Cy."

"I was talking about T.J."

_"Hey!" _T.J pokes Cyrus' side, delighting at the squeal his boyfriend makes as he lets Cyrus' feet touch the ground again. "I never look bad."

"The ink on your hands and face beg to differ, babe."

It's when Cyrus goes looking in his bag for some tissues that it really, _really _dawns on T.J. They're both standing in the rain with Andi Mack snapping photographs, maybe filming. Cyrus is tired, holding flowers that look like they're from a cheap corner store, petals askew in his hair, and his first thought is to be with _him, _to fuss and tease and indulge, and they're both sixteen, kind of foolish and impatient and feeling everything and nothing and--everything's not perfect, but it's whole and _real, _and he feels it to the bottom of his heart. 

"I love you."

Cyrus stops searching. Andi's camera stops flashing.

"Wh..." Cyrus lifts his head, his eyes widening. "What did you just say?"

T.J, with glasses slipping down his face, the rain fogging up his lenses, says it again. "I love you, Cyrus."

The blush that spreads across Cyrus' cheeks is an answer enough for him, and he doesn't even feel rejected when Cyrus grabs his hand to hide how flustered he is. "Come on, we've got to get inside!" He scoffs, "you're going to get sick. Honestly, you bolt out without even thinking--Theo, you're not even wearing shoes!"

T.J laughs, letting himself be pulled along and grins. "You were back. How could I stop myself? I don't care if I get sick."

Cyrus just scowls back at him. "You're talking about my boyfriend who I love, you know."

T.J stops for a second, smile stretching to his ears, and, fuck it, can it really be helped if he sweeps Cyrus back into his arms and kisses him? Can it truly be helped if Cyrus drops his backpack and the bouquet and returns it? Can it really, _really _matter if the rain is the perfect stage for their young love? Romantic, sappy, and foolish because they both know that they're both going to end up sick with colds, following a lecture by Buffy.

In the distance, he can hear Andi screaming down the phone to Buffy, telling her it doesn't _matter _if she's on a date with Marty, _bring him too, _bring _everyone, _and he laughs into kissing Cyrus, his boyfriend, fucking love of his young life and beyond, and he doesn't care.

_Have fun with that, _Kira once said.

He's having more than fun.

He's _living. _

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please consider commenting/leaving kudos/bookmarking and checking out the other stories I have in the Shadyside scrapbook series! <3 Your support really means a lot. :)


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